


a path to normal

by seimaisin



Category: Six of Crows Series - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: Family, M/M, Post-Canon, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-17
Updated: 2016-12-17
Packaged: 2018-09-09 07:41:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8881861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seimaisin/pseuds/seimaisin
Summary: Home is a difficult concept for Wylan and his mother. Jesper makes it easier.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Suaine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suaine/gifts).



It’s raining the day Wylan brings his mother home. Maybe that sets the tone. Maybe Wylan had been picturing something brighter - a beautiful, sunny day, a beautiful, sunny smile on his mother’s face, the world righting itself again. But he should have learned by now that the world never actually rights itself, it just moves on and tries to course correct along the way. And thus, the homecoming isn’t really a dream come true.

His mother shuffles quietly into the house, looking around with large eyes. “The paint,” she finally says, looking at the foyer.

Wylan winces, looking at the salmon pink trim on the walls. “Yeah, Alys … has her own tastes.” And then he winces again. Maybe he shouldn’t mention the woman who took his mother’s place. But she doesn’t seem to acknowledge it - maybe she doesn’t know who Alys is. (He is thankful that Alys left for the lake house last week, so he doesn’t have to introduce them to each other.)

He leads her around the house, showing her where the ceiling has been fixed in the dining room, and the spare bedroom where he and Jesper have been storing the various items they intend to sell. “We don’t need a lot of this stuff Father bought,” he says, “so we’re going to auction it and use the money to help out some of the contracts in the West Stave. It was Inej’s suggestion, when we asked what we should do with all of it.” He’s babbling, he knows, but he’s still not getting any real response from her. He’s starting to panic a little bit. What if she still needs help? What if he can’t give it to her?

He’s never been happier to hear Jesper’s voice than this moment. “Hey, you guys home yet?”

“Up here,” Wylan calls. 

Jesper appears in the doorway, and bows extravagantly to Wylan’s mother. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you properly. We weren’t really introduced the last time. Jesper Fahey, at your service.”

For the first time since she walked through the door, she smiles. “Hello,” she says, almost shyly. 

“Jesper lives here with us, Mother,” Wylan says. “With me.”

“Oh. That’s nice.” The smile fades, and he’s lost her again. But there for a moment, she’d engaged. It would have to be enough for now. 

Wylan gives Jesper a grateful smile. Jesper just winks and makes a flourishing gesture towards the hallway. “I heard that the cook has baked us an amazing cherry pie, which we won’t get unless we actually eat dinner, because she expects us to actually be adults. Adults! Can you believe that?”

“She’s clearly reaching, where you’re concerned.”

Jesper smacks Wylan in the arm as he passes. “I’m older than you, merchling.”

“Age has nothing to do with maturity.”

“Says you.” Jesper reaches over and musses Wylan’s hair. 

Wylan hears a small sound from his other side - a nearly silent chuckle. When he looks over, his mother is still staring at the floor, but the corners of her lips are turned upwards. Wylan can’t help but smile, and put an arm around her shoulders. It’s a start, anyway.

*

 

Wylan wakes to the sound of his mother’s screams. 

He’s running out of the room before he realizes what he’s doing. Footsteps behind tell him that Jesper is on his heels, which is a relief. He runs the length of the hall and throws the door open. “Mother??”

She’s kneeling on the floor, next to the bed, staring at something Wylan can’t see. When he kneels next to her, she doesn’t turn her head, but grabs his hand and holds it tight. “He was here,” she whispers. “He was here, in bed, like it was all a dream. I don’t want to go back. I don’t want him to take me there again.”

Wylan pulls his hand out of her grasp and puts his arms around her shoulders. “He’s gone. He’s in jail. He’s never coming back to hurt us.”

At his embrace, she breaks down. “Don’t let him take me, Wylan,” she sobs. “I don’t want to go.”

“You aren’t going anywhere. You’re home. You’re safe.” He keeps repeating it until her sobs begin to fade. Then, slowly, he helps her to her feet, and gets her back into bed. “Sleep, Mother. You’re safe.” She curls up, away from him, clutching a pillow like a lifeline.

When he turns to the door, Jesper is standing just inside, watching. He remains silent until they’ve closed the door behind them. “Maybe,” he says quietly, “you should move her to another bedroom.”

“That one is hers. Was hers. I want her to have it again.” 

“Yeah, I know. But think about it.” Jesper looks down at Wylan. “Your parents both slept in that room. In that bed. You know how you felt when you first came back here, like you weren’t comfortable anywhere. Imagine how it feels to her, to sleep in the one place she couldn’t get away from your father.”

Wylan doesn’t answer, but the question haunts him even when they’re back in bed. He stares at the ceiling for a long time, listening to Jesper’s breathing even out beside him. In the morning, at the breakfast table, when he sees his mother’s bloodshot eyes, he takes her hand. “Do you want to find another bedroom?”

Her grateful smile tells him all he needs to know.

*

Business meetings are never Wylan’s favorite activity. For one, he lives in constant fear that he’ll be asked to read something, and make a fool of himself. (Thankfully, he’s learned that saying “I want to give this my full attention, let me take it home to read it and get back to you” will get him out of most situations.) But mostly, he hates that it involves being nice to people who are much like his father - maybe not quite as bad, but many of them turned a blind eye to his father’s crimes, which doesn’t really make them any better. So he plasters a smile on his face, memorizes the memos and notes Jesper reads to him, and pretends there isn’t a tiny spark of hate in his heart every time he sees someone he recognizes from his childhood.

Sometimes, after the meetings, he’ll walk down to the East Stave and imagine that he’s still working for the Dregs, for Kaz. He doesn’t often get hassled - he could believe it’s because people recognize him, but honestly, it’s probably because Kaz warned everyone away from him. He knows how ridiculous it is to wish he lived here again, but it was a simpler time, when no one knew who he was or what his weaknesses were. (Well, except Kaz. But Kaz knows everything.) When he could build things and know they’d be useful … even if what he was building was explosives used to destroy and maim. 

Wylan thinks he may be permanently messed up, because he has less of a problem with blowing up a building than with handing over money to Ketterdam’s elite. But, then again, thanks to his time here, he knows that a lot of that money will probably go to bribes and brothels and other criminal activities. At least here in the Stave, there’s no pretense of morality. There’s a certain comfort to that.

It’s mid-afternoon by the time he walks home. When he walks inside, the first thing he hears is a delighted female giggle. He furrows his brow. “Mother?”

He follows the sound to the back parlour, where his mother is holding a small wooden carving that Wylan doesn’t recognize. Jesper is sitting beside her, grinning with pride. “Oh, it looks almost exactly like I remember!” his mother says. Wylan’s eyes widen. Aside from her panic attack in the master bedroom, it’s the most words he’s heard her say at one time since she came home.

“You have a good memory,” Jesper says, “and a talent for description.” 

She leans up and kisses Jesper on the cheek. Wylan blinks, and fights a wave of jealousy. That’s more spontaneous physical affection than she’s shown him since she returned home. When she looks up to see Wylan, her smile falters for a moment, but then she holds up the carving for him to see. “Jesper made this for me. It looks like one I had when I was a girl.”

Wylan looks from his mother to Jesper. “You used your powers?”

Jesper shrugs. “Anything for a lovely lady.”

She giggles again, and Wylan’s definitely pleased to see her happy, but he can’t shake an ugly weight in his stomach. Later, after she’s gone to bed, he sits next to Jesper. “That was nice of you,” he says, “to make that figure for her.”

Jesper smiles, leaning against Wylan’s shoulder. “I like your mother. She’s quieter than mine was, but she’s got a lovely smile, and she apparently doesn’t mind that I’m sleeping with her son.” 

“I’m honestly not sure how much she cares about what I do. She doesn’t talk to me very much, if I don’t initiate the conversation. And even then, she doesn’t say a lot.”

“Hey.” Jesper pokes him. “She cares. She asks me to tell her stories sometimes, about what you and I have done. Don’t worry,” he says quickly, “I edit all stories judiciously for crime and violence.”

“Then why won’t she talk to me?” Wylan vividly remembers the paintings he found at the asylum, how many of them featured a ruddy-haired little boy. “She seemed to miss me, back there.”

Jesper is quiet for a long moment. Then, he puts his arm around Wylan’s shoulders and pulls him close. “I think, maybe, you look too much like him now.”

“What?” Wylan stiffens, but then relaxes against Jesper and considers it. It’s not the first time he’s been told he looks like a young version of his father. There’s even a painting, now stashed deep in the cellar, that looks remarkably like Wylan, though it was painted twenty years ago. “I can’t help that, unless you want me to go find a Tailor again.”

“Hell no, I’m fond of your stupid face, remember?” Jesper tightens his arm around Wylan. “But you’ve been doing a lot of business stuff lately, which probably also reminds her of your asshole father.”

Wylan sighs. “I can’t say I haven’t been thinking about him recently, too. I hate so many of those people. I want to shoot half of them in the face every time they smile at me.”

“Leave the shooting to me. Seriously, if you ever think one of them needs shooting, let me know, I’d be more than happy.” Wylan elbows him, and Jesper laughs. “No, really,” he says, turning serious. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you’ve been avoiding your mother.”

“I …” Wylan wants to deny it, but then he thinks for a moment. “It’s hard,” he says. “Being back here, just in general. I still expect him to come around every corner and start yelling. And I can see the same thing on her face. And the way she looks at me … I guess she does see him.” He closes his eyes. “It hurts, when she flinches.”

“I know.” 

They don’t say anything else. Wylan is grateful for the silence, and for Jesper’s solid presence by his side. 

*

Wylan carries his package into the music room, where his mother sits, listlessly plunking out notes on the pianoforte. She looks up when he arrives, and her eyes widen at the giant, bulky wrapped items in his arms. “Hey,” he says, giving her a hopeful smile. “Do you want to go to the garden with me?”

“I thought you had a meeting.”

“I cancelled it.” 

Her lips twitch upward, but she doesn’t move. “Wylan,” she says softly. “Come sit down.”

He leaves his packages on the floor, and joins her on the pianoforte bench. “How are you, Mother?” he asks. “Are you happier here?”

“Yes.” She sounds surprised that he would ask. She looks back down at the keys, plays a few more notes. “I don’t really know how to talk to people any more. It gets easier, being here. The nurses don’t make me swallow pills when I’m upset any more. That helps. The pills made me fuzzy.”

Wylan wants to smash his fist into his father’s face. But he makes himself relax his hands, and puts an arm around her waist. He doesn’t miss her flinch, but he tries not to take it personally, remembering Jesper’s words. “No more pills,” he promises. 

“I know.” Finally, she relaxes against him, taking her hands off the keys and folding them in her lap. “I’m still scared,” she admits softly.

“Me too.” He sighs. “I missed you so much.”

Wylan doesn’t realize she’s crying until he feels the moisture on his sleeve, as tears drip down her cheek. When he shifts, she wraps her arms around his waist and buries her face in his shirt. Helpless, Wylan can only cling to her, and let his own tears fall unchecked. He’s not sure how much time passes like that; long enough that he feels tired and dehydrated by the time she stops shaking and lifts her head. “Wylan,” she murmurs, touching his cheek. “You’re here.”

“Yes,” he says, wiping his cheeks.

She straightens up, brushing wrinkles from her dress. “What did you bring me?”

“A new easel, new paints, a new smock. I got enough for both of us. I thought we could go out into the garden and paint.”

Her smile lights up the room, and Wylan is desperately glad that he put off work for the day.

Later, as the afternoon light begins to fade, Wylan looks down the walkway to see Jesper approaching, and smiles. “I’m glad he’s here,” his mother says suddenly, the first words she’s spoken in hours. 

“Me too.” He looks back at her. “I’m glad you like him.”

“He reminds me that it’s different now. That it’s going to be alright.”

Wylan looks back; when Jesper sees him looking, he grins and tips his hat. Wylan can do nothing but grin back. “Yeah. He does that.”


End file.
